Terminator 5: Redemption
by Mr. and Mrs. Wordsmith
Summary: Summary: What if Terminator 3 & 4 didn't exist? In the summer of 2011, two writers set out to find the answer and defend Christian Bale's reputation. In a world of shitty movies, someone had to take a stand.
1. Chapter 1

**Terminator 5 Redemption**

**For Christian Bale **

Disclaimer: This story is for entertainment purposes only. Props to James Cameron for creating _Terminator._

**Chapter 1: The Time Travel Scene**

_New Mexico 2008 on the set of Terminator Salvation _

"Do you want me to go fucking trash your lights? Do you want me to fucking trash them? Then why are you trashing my scene? You do it one more fucking time and I ain't walking on this set if you're still hired. I'm fucking serious."

Christian Bale was pissed.

Trying not to laugh, the lighting guy paused for a moment to compose himself. It was evident the talent wished to stay in character. He addressed Bale accordingly.

"With all due respect, Mr. Connor, uh John, are you really upset about being interrupted or is something else going on?"

Bale stood there for a moment dumbfounded at what just went down. No one had ever had the balls to question him, especially after _American Psycho_ was released. He smirked, "You know lighting guy, you're bloody right. Sorry I was a dick. Let me buy you a pint."

The pair walked across the dusty lot under the noon day sun. It was a sweltering 110 degrees, and luckily the bar was just a five minute walk from the set. But if you want to know the truth, luck had nothing to do with it. Christian Bale, like any self respecting Brit, made sure that a pub was within walking distance from any set he was filming on. It was in his contract and was nonnegotiable.

They bellied up to the bar at the Swinging Dick Saloon. Lighting guy was happy to be off set and finally able to speak freely. He had been sick to his stomach since filming began. Sure he needed a job, but as a _Terminator_ purist, he was appalled by what he saw. Between the pussy John Connor was in T3 and the convoluted story line in _Salvation_, one could only hope the explosions and new technology would justify the 20 dollar a head ticket price for the general public. He knew the story alone wouldn't cut it.

"Do you think that maybe you're so upset because this is a terrible movie? I mean, come on. You're Christian Bale. You're a legend. Dude, I loved you in _Newsies._ You're the reason why I came to New Mexico. You know, _Santa Fe. Are you there, will you swear you won't forget me_! Classic shit, man." He paused thinking about good old Jack Kelly. After a moment he laughed and went back to ripping on the script of _Salvation_. "Look at your lines. Come on! I think the real question here is, why are they trashing your lines?"

Bale listened intently as lighting guy carried on.

"You know what was another shitty movie?" LG asked slurring his words.

"Terminator 3," Bale replied perfectly sober in spite of the 10 pints he had just shut down.

"Exactly bro." Lighting guy continued, "Wouldn't it be epic if we could go back in time and stop both Terminator 3 and 4 from being made! Shit, with the money they are spending on this project, they probably have a real time machine. I heard McG talking to some dude over at Los Alamos about time travel and stuff. I think they're legit; these Hollywood guys wanna do it right."

"That's fucking funny. I'll go speak to him about it," Bale said while paying the tab. "I know I can be a bit intense. I'm truly fucking sorry. "

Lighting guy sat there with a silly grin on his face. He wasn't gay, but CB was the best looking guy he had ever seen. "Go get 'em Cowboy!"

Bale winked as he walked out of the bar.

He burst through the swinging doors on a crash course to find McG and possibly some redemption for the _Terminato_r franchise. Lighting guy was right; it was criminal what they were doing to John Connor and the first two movies.

CB flung open the door of the air-conditioned trailer to find McG leaning back in a chair, his feet propped on the desk reading _The OC Weekly_.

"Hey Mc," Bale began, " Sorry about the shit this morning. It's just that John Connor is a great character and we're fucking him up. We need to end this steaming pile of shit now, before it's too late. And speaking of being too late, I'd like to get rid of T3 while we're at it."

"And how do you suggest we do that?" McG asked putting down his mag.

"I'm going to need to borrow your time machine." Bale said with a deadpan expression.

McG began to laugh, "Christian, I couldn't agree with you more. This movie does suck balls, and the last one was pure shit too. Your idea is so tempting. And you know how I hate being any where east of the 405 this time of year. But shit man, I need to get paid. If you rid the world of T4, while it would be extremely humanitarian of you, I'd be out of a job."

"I'll pay you myself." Bale said leaning in closer to the desk with the same intensity he had earlier that day.

McG didn't hesitate. " Go to Los Alamos," he said pulling out a set of keys. "Pass through the gates and if they say anything, just hit them with the "Do you know who I am?" thing. It should be pretty easy for you. Once you're in, head over to the first lab on your right. Enter the room and, when you're ready, push the big red button on the wall. That ought to do it. "

"Brilliant. Thanks Mc." Bale said putting his cigarette out on the corner of the desk.

While some would be offended, McG laughed. CB was such a pain in the ass, but he loved the guy. "Oh and Christian, one last thing. You'll have to be completely nude for that sucker to work."


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2: Terminator Victim Interface**

_Los Angeles 2002_

Christian Bale was disorientated for a moment. Time travel seemed to have that effect. Looking around, he began to notice familiar surroundings. The smell of the ocean mixed with dirty hippy could only mean one thing: Venice. Venice Beach spread out before him. And thank Christ. Here on this filthy stretch of beach no one would notice or care that a fully nude movie star was walking down the boardwalk.

Slowly, he stood up and limped through the sand until he became steady on his feet. It was just after dusk and the neon signs were flickering on. He walked a couple hundred feet to the nearest bar and staggered in. Looking around the room, his prospects were slim. There was a three hundred pound guy at the bar nursing a Coors and two 909ers playing pool. _Fuck_, CB thought to himself, _I hate those Affliction type T-shirts_. But what choice did he have? He needed clothes and a ride.

"I need your shirt, pants, and lifted truck," Bale said in his best Batman voice to the 909er with the gaudy flames emblazoned on his sleeves.

"Hey, fuck you man!" 909 shot back.

CB was in no mood to argue, especially with some fucktard from the IE. He decked him hard, knocking the dude out cold.

Five minutes later, Bale emerged from the bar rocking the latest dumbouflage. He eyed the parking lot and found the biggest, most jacked up truck there was. He tried the keys, and of course, they were a match. Nothing screams 909 like a lifted truck marred with Ed Hardy inspired skeletons. He felt like a complete tool, but he had to focus on the mission.

_New Mexico 2008 _

Meanwhile, back on the set, McG was summoned to a meeting with management.

"He went where?" screamed Goldstein as Cohen and Rothberg shook their heads.

"Well," McG began, "Christian was interested in using a test asset from Los Alamos to return to 2002 and stop the production of T3. "

"Why?" Goldstein asked.

Cohen leaned near Rothberg to indicate it was time to get moving if they were to make it to Las Vegas for the _Hangover_ pitch.

The smoke filled room rendered it difficult to observe their expressions, and the uncomfortable whispering made the director uneasy. Clearly management didn't want to lose money on their franchise and that's just what McG was doing without his front man.

"Since you caused this mess, you can clean it up. You must stop him," Rothberg indicted getting hot under the collar.

"How the hell am I supposed to do that?"

The room was silent for a moment save for the clanging of ice in Cohen's whiskey tumbler.

"We'll be expecting to hear from you in a few days, that is if you want to still make movies in any country that doesn't consider human trafficking an export," Rothberg threatened putting his cigar out on the desk.

As they exited Cohen turned and gave McG the nod, "you have my blessing to use anything within your power to stop Christian from committing this tragic misuse of fiction."

_Los Angeles 2002_

As Christian Bale drove down Venice Blvd, he considered his next move. He would need to obtain the names and addresses of the writers working on the T3 script. If memory served, the people at Columbia were the culprits behind the production of this epic failure.

_Somewhere on the Westside _

JD and MF couldn't agree.

"I'm telling you, if you do that you're going to turn John Connor into a giant pussy," JD insisted.

MF stopped typing and threw his hands up, "What the fuck do you want me to do? Cohen and Rothberg are breathing down my neck to get this shit out. They need a draft by next Tuesday."

"Well, as long as you can sleep at night knowing that you're contributing to the emasculation of this country, so be it." JD sighed as he took another swig of scotch. "Next thing you know, dudes will be running around in skinny jeans, touching up their guyliner and cutting themselves like it's cool."

_Columbia Pictures _

Bale walked up to the reception desk looking very much like Patrick Bateman after a power lunch. He had traded his last season's paintball attire for a Brooks Bothers suit. If he was going to hunt writers, he wanted to look good.

Lila didn't look up at first. She was so engrossed in this new Friendster thing she hadn't the time or inclination to be bothered with work. Unless of course work included…Christian Bale!

_Holy shit_, she typed away. _You're not going to believe who just walked in! OMG, it's Christian Fucking Bale! _

"Hello," he said raising an eyebrow. He was really laying it on thick, although he hardly had to.

The girl's mouth hung open causing the pencil she had been biting on to fall to the ground. Sure, she had seen her share of movie stars walk through the door, but this was Jack "Cowboy" Kelly.

"Sorry to interrupt you," he began looking deep into her eyes "but do you think I could get the contact information of two writers. We're going to be working on an upcoming project and I seem to have misplaced their addresses." He went full Brit just in case she was thinking of being a hard ass.

Giving out personal information was strictly against Columbia's policy. She knew this. Once, Mr. Cohen had a secretary decapitated and thrown in the LA River for hinting at the whereabouts of Matthew McConaughey's trailer park. Then there was the time one of "Goldstein's Girls" as they called them, threatened to tell his wife they were having an affair. Rumor has it, her remains were found rotting in the desert somewhere off the 395. When these guys said you'd never work in this town again, they meant it. Still, this was Christian Fucking Bale.

"Sure ah, "Lila stuttered. "Who ya' looking for?"

"JD and MF," he said coolly as she blushed.

She tried to minimize the Friendster tab, but it was stuck.

_OMFG_, she typed frantically. _CB is like staring at me. _

A moment passed as she tried to get the screen to close.

_Yes, he's even more fuckable in person_, she chimed back to her friend.

Christian Bale stood by patiently staring out the window. If he knew McG, the guy would cave once Cohen, Goldstein and Rothberg showed up. And when it came to money (making or losing it) Cohen, Goldstein and Rothberg always showed up. They were not going to just stand by and watch their investment take a shit. No, they'd be out for blood. Normally, they'd simply lawyer up, but seeing as how time travel was involved this could only mean one thing… The Cyberdyne Systems Model 101. He had to get to the writers before the Terminator did.

"Here you go," Lila giggled handing him the goods along with her number.

"Thanks, if I'm ever in 2002 again, I'll ring you."

_Somewhere on the Westside _

JD and MF still couldn't agree.

"Why don't you just make him some pussy living in Irvine and call it a day," JD mumbled.

MF scoffed and kept writing.

Little did they know, shit was about to get stranger than even their fiction.

There was a knock at the door.

"Shit," MF jumped. "I bet it's Cohen. I hate when he does this." He said shaking his head as he walked to the door.

And there he was. Before he was Governor or a hologram in some shitty sequel, he was just your typical prototype, The Cyberdyne Systems Model 101. Too bad he was working for the wrong side.

"MF?" the T-101 asked raising his sawed off shot gun.

"Yeeeessss?" MF whimpered channeling a young Linda Hamilton.

The Terminator entered the house shoving MF into a wall causing him to fall to the ground. He made his way through the house to the desk where JD was sitting.

MF was getting flustered. "Um, do you mind maybe taking off your shoes? I just had this bamboo flooring put in."

T-101 ignored him as he pushed deeper into the house.

"JD?" T-101 asked confirming his identity.

"How did you know where to find us?" JD asked perfectly deadpan.

"All information about you, MF and your likely locations have been downloaded into the system," the Terminator said looking at both writers.

"Fair enough," JD mumbled gulping the last of his scotch.

Arnold waited for him to finish his drink, then offered a hand to MF who still lay on the floor, "Come with me if you want your story to live."

The writers followed him out to his bike and jumped on. They tried to arrange themselves but it became a twisted group of men on two wheels.

After the chopper peeled out, the T-101 turned on the world famous KROQ. They made their getaway as _Guns and Roses_ blared and the sky darkened over Los Angeles. There were no helmets on this fun run, and MF was beginning to feel what it might be like to be John Conner with nuts still intact.

Just then, a black lifted truck sped around the corner.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3: Bike, Big Truck Destruction Scene**

_Los Angeles 2002_

A lifted truck is difficult to control at top speeds, but Christian Bale held his own. Traffic was astonishingly light as he raced down Santa Monica. If you were going to have a chase scene in LA, Sunday night was the time to do it.

Bale could see the motorcycle in the distance. He pushed the pedal down hard to close in on them. As the bike sped along the wide boulevard, the writers had jumped into the sidecar to hunker down for the chase. Within seconds CB was on their tail and looking down the barrel of the big guy's sawed off.

The T-101 fired off a round aiming for the truck's tires. The shot wasn't even close. CB wondered if the machine's code was buggy. McG probably pulled him out of some storage space they had on set. You would think if they were going to blow all this money trying to save their asses, they could at least have had a tech guy run a system diagnostic.

Suddenly, his windshield shattered and he was jolted back to reality. Maybe the code was okay after all. To avoid getting shot in the face, CB careened over into the left lane. The smell of burnt rubber filled the air. Looking over his shoulder, he could see the cyborg take aim again. He bumped the bike and dodged the round.

"Oh my God!" MF screamed after nearly being thrown from the chopper. "Can we please pull over and call the police!"

"Negative," The Terminator responded taking aim at the truck again.

"I thought he was supposed to do what we said?" MF yelled to JD over the roaring engine.

"He does what he's programmed to do, and clearly he's on a mission to get away from this crazed 909er." JD answered calmly.

The truck was parallel with the bike as they raced northbound. The machine blasted CB's front tire causing the vehicle to tilt awkwardly to the right. The blowout brought the truck down some so that the writers were able to see into the cab.

"What the shit?" JD asked in a state of confusion. "Isn't that Christian Bale?"

"OMG, I think it is," MF screamed "He's even cuter in person."

The T101 took advantage of the truck's compromised state and began positioning himself in order to board the speeding vehicle. CB swerved in an attempt to throw his large body off into the street. But it was no use. The Terminator jumped onto the roof. If he was going to live, Bale had only seconds to make the right move. Another round tore through the roof making a giant hole in the passenger seat. Meanwhile, the bike slowed and came to a stop by the side of the road.

He was coming up on Beverly and CB had to act fast. He sped around the corner making the back tire lift off the ground. Ahead lay a Mercedes Dealership which gave him an idea. Bracing himself, he stepped on the gas and gunned it toward the lot. He zoomed past rows of LS coupes on a crash course for the showroom window. Another two shots were fired, one missing CB's leg by inches.

Seconds before the T 101 could get in another shot, the jacked up vehicle careened through the glass. The truck shattered the window at 110 miles per hour causing the airbag to deploy. The noise was deafening but having been in numerous action movies it didn't frighten the actor. The velocity and impact jolted him around in the cab. But so far, no serious damage was sustained.

A silver Maybach sat in the center of the showroom. It was a true piece of art worthy of its museum status, that is until the lifted truck had its way with it. The truck smashed into the Mercedes causing it to crumple but not bend. The thing was built like a tank and wouldn't give. It sent the truck flying causing it to come to a landing on its roof.

For a moment all was quiet save for the sound of leaking gas. CB lay motionless.

Under the pile of rubble, the machine began to spark. The smell of smoke caused the sleeping Bale to awaken. Slowly, he emerged from the vehicle and began conducting his own system diagnostic.

Meanwhile, the writers sat on the curb catching their breath. They hadn't made it on to Beverly as neither one of them knew how to drive a motorcycle.

"Should we go see where they went?" MF asked.

JD yawned, "If it's all the same to you, I'd rather not. I've had enough excitement for one night."

Just then there was a massive explosion. In the distance, the sky became orange and fiery.

"Holy shit," JD yelled as he stood up. "This looks like it could be cool. Come on."

"Do you think he's hurt?" MF whined.

"Uh, no dude", JD gasped at his colleague's ignorance. "He's a Terminator, he'll live."

MF sighed, "I was talking about Christian Bale."

"Oh, I dunno. I hope so. I mean, aside from the whole high speed chase thing, the guy seems cool enough."

In the distance, the sirens screamed.

Back on Beverly, a collected Bale rolled passed the destruction in a black S-Class. He peeled out, just for the hell of it knowing that a Mercedes gave you a free pass to drive like an asshole.

Well usually.

Just as he turned back onto Santa Monica, a cop lit him up.

He pulled over and watched as the copper made his way to the car-gun drawn and everything.

"Okay sir," the cop began. "I'm going to have to ask you to step out of the vehicle."

Bale did as instructed.

"No way!" The cop exclaimed. He lowered his gun getting giddy. "Christian Bale! You don't even know how glad I am to see you."

CB stood there watching the guy's theatrical movements as he lit a cigarette.

"Me and Ellroy were just talking about you." The cop said putting his gun back into his holster. "He and I became tight when I worked as a consultant on _LA Confidential_. Anyhow, he's looking to turn this Black Dahlia book of his into a movie and mentioned you. "

Bale took a long drag remembering what a shitty movie that had been. It was bad enough he had signed on for _Salvation_, but he'd be damned if he made the same mistake twice.

"The book was brilliant, but I just don't see it as a movie." CB began "Would you do me a huge favor and tell James I said so."

If he could prevent another box office travesty, that would just be the icing on the cake.

"Absolutely," laughed the cop. "Anything for you Mr. Bale."

CB finished his smoke and got back into the car. "Brilliant then, good night."

He peeled out leaving the destruction behind. It would only be a matter of time before the Terminator would reboot and come for him. It was time to get weaponized. He slammed on the gas and headed for East Los.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4: Getting Weaponized**

The cross-town traffic was light. This made it easy for CB to navigate to the neighborhood where he would find the ultimate in protection. The ten day waiting period couldn't provide the insurance necessary to combat the mechanized nightmare that would be gunning for him.

As he sped into East Los Angeles, the sounds of Reggaeton and gunfire filled the air.

The neighborhood looked like a demilitarized zone and what CB knew from watching COPS was his car wouldn't last long from being identified by law enforcement and the indigenous population might take a stab at it as well.

CB recalled from some light hearted conversations with Danny Trujillo that bangers in East Los could make weapons purchases as easy as Michael Bay's mom went down on prom night.

He came to a stop sign where a group of cholos were hanging out on the corner. CB rolled down the passenger side window as the vatos approached.

"Nice ride homes," Vato One said reaching for his gat.

"Simone." Vato Two agreed.

Vato Three went around to the driver's side pulling out his piece. Unfazed, CB rolled down the window and sat calmly smoking a cigarette.

"Holy shit ese, it's Christian Bale!" Vato Three said to his partners.

CB sat there looking mildly amused. He took a long drag and waited for the other Vatos to identify him.

"I'm gonna need your help fellas." CB began.

"What 'chew need man?" Vato Three asked. "Medicine for your head, women, pirated movies…I've got a Steven Seagal three pack on special today only."

CB smirked, "I'll need some guns."

"Sure bro," Vato Three began. "I took you more for a chain saw kinda cat, but whatevers. Go down to the corner store and ask for Sad Girl. She'll show you to the back room and this dude named Jesus."

"Is Jesus your distributor?" CB asked.

Vato Three tucked his gat back into his Dickies."Yup, yup…he'll hook you up with whatever you need….semi autos, RPGs, oh and he just got this sick Tommy gun in."

"Thanks man."

Jesus laid out the pieces ritualistically as he would for the usual customers preparing for urban warfare. But, this time was different with a man wearing a suit glaring at the hardware.

CB recalled from an action movie where he played a gun toting cleric the usefulness of a pistol and how a shotgun made an ideal close quarter's battle weapon. The assault rifle would be difficult to carry and the crossbow wouldn't have the punch to take out a Terminator.

"The .45 caliber pistol, shotgun, and explosives, please," CB said to the man.

"You want a bag homes?" Jesus asked.

CB shook his head.

"You know that these things didn't come from here and we never met."

Bale acknowledged with a nod.

"Hey man, how 'bout the rounds? You gonna be needing some ammo? "

While it was extremely rare, even Christian Bale had his off days. He looked a little dumfounded that he forgot the lead and the initiating devices to get the party started.

After the awkwardness of collecting some critical elements, he jumped back in his ride with the goods. He just made it back to the corner where he had met the vatos when a siren and lights came up from behind.

"Fancy car in this neighborhood, sir," the policeman said with a hand on his gun.

"I'm a little off the beaten path."

"Do you mind if we search your vehicle? It's for our protection."

"Actually…"

"Holy shit it's Christian-Fucking-Bale."

"Hey guys."

"You down here getting the new Seagal three pack? It's on special today only, you know?"

"No, I'll wait until it comes out on Project Free TV."

"What's that?" Cop One asked shaking his head.

"You'll see."

The copper was confused but decided to let it go and assisted CB back onto the west bound 10.

Meanwhile, the Terminator was readjusting his sensors and running a quick diagnostic as more sirens continued to move closer to the scene.

Slowly, he lifted the truck off of himself and started hobbling towards the alley when a police officer yelled a command, "DON'T YOU FUCKING MOVE, ASSHOLE!"

The officer quickly realized that this wasn't Halloween and half of this guy's face was gone. The glowing red eye and chrome facial feature made the officer uneasy.

The Terminator began walking away when the cop fired a round at his back. The T-101 returned fire blowing the copper's head off with the shotgun.

By this time, the writers had hired a cab to take them back to the Westside. JD wanted to stick around to see the action as long as he could, but MF soon realized that he needed to return home to feed his pets. Unbeknownst to the writers, the Terminator would anticipate this move and would be there to meet them.

As CB exited the 10 freeway, he assessed his current battle readiness:

Pistol

Shotgun

Bullets

Explosives

And balls

"Good to go," he thought as he geared up for his confrontation with the Terminator. It would be worth his sacrifice to ensure that the future of cinema wouldn't be tarnished with T3 and T4.

As he pulled onto the writers' street, CB was confident, "I bet that pussy in T3 could never pull this off."


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5: The Future Has Not Been Written **

A/N: For Patrick McClellan, our one and only fan. Sorry it's been so long man. We suck.

_John Connor: (Voiceover) The future has not been written. There is no fate but what we make for ourselves. I wish I could believe that. _

Darkness had fallen on the Westside of Los Angeles. CB needed to complete this mission once and for all. As he rolled up to the writers' pad, all was quiet. Despite the odds, he had beaten the cyborg assassin to the punch. There was still hope of shutting down the script that would spell certain death for the Terminator franchise.

Bale needed to hustle as the T101 would undoubtedly be making an appearance at any moment. He flew into the writers' driveway slamming on the breaks just before crashing into the garage. CB emerged from the Benz, did a brass check, and lit a smoke as he headed to the door.

To MF's surprise, it was Christian Bale, "Oh my God! I'm so glad you're okay. I was so worried!"

"Right," CB exhaled blowing smoke into MF's face. "Do you have a DVD player?"

"Yeah, what's it to you?" JD chimed in, getting up from the couch.

"Watch this." CB placed the disk into the machine revealing clips from T3 and T4.

"Holy shit!" JD yelled. "Did we really do this? What a fucking nightmare."

MF started to cry.

"Let's end this here," Bale said surveying the room and planning for the big guy's final assault.

JD scoffed, "Sure, it's a piece of shit. So what? We're still getting paid."

"How can we stop this thing?" MF sighed. "Cohen will have us in the L.A. River before he lets us walk away from the script."

"It's not Cohen you have to worry about, it's the Terminator." Bale said. "He's on his way here now and he's going to be gunning for me. Cohen, Goldstein and Rothberg sent him from the future to take me out before I could get to you two and your disastrous script." He went on addressing JD, "Listen man, cut the bullshit. I'll pay you not to write it."

Just then, Arnold kicked in the front door guns blazing. CB and the writers dropped to the ground.

"Quick, follow me," Bale said pointing to the sliding glass door. Before they could make it, the big guy's bullets shattered the glass. With much stealth, CB punched through the shards causing the whole door to crumble at his feet. He and the writers ran into the backyard positioning themselves behind an Adirondack chair on the far side of the kidney shaped pool.

"How deep's your pool?" CB asked the writers.

JD smirked, "Is that code for something?"

"Yeah, it's code for I'm trying to save your ass, shit bird."

Gunfire rained down as the three hid behind the lawn furniture.

"My ass," JD popped off, "It's you he's trying to take out. Not me pal."

CB was not used to people giving him shit. Didn't this dick understand he was trying to spare moviegoers and the writers' reputations?

"But, it is our asses on the line," MF whined. "Don't you see Christian is trying to spare us the embarrassment of publishing our piece of shit script."

Luckily, the T101's target acquisition algorithm was still buggy from the accident. His vision was blurry, but he would soon zero in on the trio.

"Fine, what do you need from me?" JD shrugged.

"I need you to tell me how deep your Goddamn pool is."

JD crossed his arms. "Why?"

This shit was taxing. CB reached for the last smoke in his shirt pocket and took a long drag.

Before Bale could continue the dick dance of a conversation he was having, a bullet tore through the wood paneling of the chair grazing JD's leg.

"Dude, you almost shot my junk off!" the writer screamed at the Terminator as he hovered over JD.

"You'll live." T101 said shoving him to the side on a mission to find CB.

"Hey Fuck-O," CB yelled from the pool.

The T101's attention honed in on Bale, however the cyborg was having trouble getting the tracking software to initialize.

At that moment, JD found enough sack to push the T101 into the pool. "It's 8 feet deep by the way," he called to CB who was relaxing on a purple flotation noodle in the shallow end.

"That should fucking do," CB said eyeing the T101 who was now slowly moving towards the actor.

The Terminator was in trouble. His pressure sensors indicated that he was past the five-foot waterproof threshold. He noticed his limbs were not operating properly and the punctures that had occurred during the past few days had now made him a giant sponge. So much for the Cyberdyne warranty; it will surely be null and void due to the water damage.

The big guy made one final reach for CB, but failed to grip his victim. Before sinking below the water, CB extinguished his cigarette out on the T101's head. The Terminator transitioned from an incredibly engineered killing machine into a boat anchor. "Hasta la vista, baby."

Bickering with dildos, taking out Terminators, and ridding the world of fictional fuckery was no easy task. CB emerged from the pool exhausted albeit victorious.

"Thanks for the help," Bale said "I'll send you a check and the T101 is yours to recycle…just promise not to mess with the Terminator franchise. "

"Don't worry", MF said handing CB a towel "I'm going into advertising."

"Just send the check," JD muttered fixing himself a drink.

It was about time to for CB to be heading back to the future. (Speaking of shitty sequels, but we digress.)

After borrowing a guayabera and some jeans from MF, CB made a quick stop at the 7-Eleven for a celebratory Slurpee and a pack of smokes. He was headed toward New Mexico and a rendezvous with the lab.

It was a long drive through the desert, but CB arrived at the lab and moved quickly through the manual of time traveling procedures outlined in the 2002 appendix. In a rush, he disrobed, pushed the red button, and woke up nude on the cold, metal floor of the time traveling pod. He felt like he just spent a night in Vegas.

Back in 2008, CB's iPhone beeped. It was the message he left for himself…. a reminder to call McG and confirm his work had been done. He walked out of the lab into the blinding desert sun. He looked around… no trailer in sight. Good sign, but he had to be sure.

Wasting no time, he Googled McG. "Ha, _The OC_," Bale laughed. "That's more like it…Mc is back where he belongs."

Satisfied, CB jumped on his bike and rode off into the sunset.

_Ending Voiceover [Epilogue]_ The unknown future rolls toward us. I face it for the first time with a sense of hope, because for the Terminator franchise, there has finally been redemption.

"_Look, I hate to throw people under the bus for making movies I don't think are very good. But for Terminator Salvation (2009) to be considered with any legitimacy, you have to throw number three [Terminator 3: Rise of the Machines (2003)] under the bus. It began to spoof the whole thing. To me, that was a sign that the franchise was dead, the mythology was finished."-Christian Bale_


End file.
